


Logan Echolls: Navy Pilot, Professional Screw Up

by anotherfngrl



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Gen, Logan Echolls needs an adult, Logan/Trouble should be a relationship tag, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24165424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfngrl/pseuds/anotherfngrl
Summary: Logan Echolls is spiraling. He wants his life to mean something, so he joins the Navy. Logan's a smart guy, a good athlete, and an amazing pilot. But while flight training comes easy, not being a screw up is a little harder. When he gets arrested on base for a bar fight, his new CO is called, and for the first time in his life, Logan Echolls finds himself faced with an adult who both gives a damn and is in a position to do something.Story contains corporal punishment of an adult by an authority figure.
Relationships: past Logan/Veronica
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	Logan Echolls: Navy Pilot, Professional Screw Up

**Author's Note:**

> This story came out of a conversation with ficwriterjet, about how much we wished Logan had a good adult influence. The show didn't give us many competent adults, and none of them were really in a position to step up for Logan, but he got it together eventually, and this fic is me exploring that, and giving him the spanking and voice of reason he so desperately needs!

Logan flops onto the ‘bed’ in the cell, throwing a hand behind his head. He’ll wait it out. He’s pretty much positive they aren’t going to charge him. He’s the star pilot of flight training. He’d coasted through Officer Candidate School the same way. A life of surfing and acing classes while slacking off had prepared him well, and when you’re swimming and testing circles around the rest of the class, it matters a lot less if you punch the wash outs when you’re drunk.

It’s practically a routine, at this point. Spend the week acing every test, winning every competition, then cut loose on the weekend. At least a couple of times a month, somebody pisses him off once he’s pissed and he gets into a fist fight. And every month or two, some jackass bartender can’t mind his own business and calls base security. Logan spends the night in a cell, and somebody cuts him loose in the morning with a reminder to never do it again. This is the first time it’s happened in flight training, but he’s assuming it’ll be the same routine- CO springs him, chews him out about ‘throwing away such a promising career’, he promises he’ll be a good boy and goes for a greasy breakfast.

Logan has learned very quickly that being brilliant is just like being rich- it opens a lot of doors. OCS had been easy- he’d aced everything without trying. API was a little bit tougher, but not much- he’d just started spending the weeks studying, and the weekends drinking. Flight training has followed the same format, so far. The studying is a little harder- it’s been a long week of late nights, and he’d been glad to cut loose tonight. Maybe too loose- they’re five weeks into flight training and this is the first time he’s been hauled in. It’s a new record!

Logan settles back to have a nap. He’ll be out in a few hours.

It feels like he’s barely dozed off when someone bangs on the bars of his cell. “Up and at ‘em,” the guy says. Logan blinks blearily at him. He’s halfway drunk and halfway asleep, which makes him  _ completely  _ annoyed. “Your Commander’s here for you. If I were you, I’d look smart- the guy is  _ pissed,” _ his annoyingly loud new friend announces.

Oh, well. Logan hauls himself upright. If he gets the ‘get chewed out and promise to be good’ part out of the way now, he can get some greasy hash browns and be in bed by dawn.

Commander Dawson is waiting for him in the lobby, wearing an expression Logan thinks he’s only ever seen on Keith Mars, looking at his daughter. That doesn’t seem fair- Logan’s a fuckup with a drinking problem, yes, but he’s nowhere near half as much trouble as Veronica. And nobody’s ever cared about him a quarter as much, even her.

“Thank you for the gallant rescue. It could’ve waited until morning. No need to miss your beauty sleep,” Logan says sarcastically, spreading his arms wide. Dawson frowns, and Logan remembers belatedly that Officers do not appreciate being  _ charmed. _ He usually sobers up before this part of the program. He’ll have to remember that.

The guy who got him out of the cell looks at Dawson, like he’s wondering if the Commander is sure he wants to claim Logan. Dawson’s expression doesn’t change.

The Commander turns on his heel and walks out. He still hasn’t spoken. Wrong-footed, Logan follows Dawson out to his car. The other man gets in without a word, and Logan decides his best bet is to follow the stone faced officer- Dawson took his personal effects bag, so he doesn’t have his phone or wallet to get a cab.

They continue not speaking as Commander Dawson drives them to some of the houses on base. It’s not the barracks where Logan is staying, or the building the Commander’s office is in, so Logan isn’t sure where they’re going.

Dawson parks in front of an unassuming single story home and gets out of the car. Quietly freaking out now, Logan follows him. This is  _ not _ how the script goes. He gets turned loose to the CO in the morning, and they chew him out at the cells, or if they’re really pissed they haul him into their office and pretend they’re going to write him up. He’s never been to a commanding officer’s home before.

The silence is freaking him out, too. When he was well and truly dead, Aaron had always gotten quiet. It’d been one of the few reliable signs that a storm was brewing. Aaron Echolls was the life of the party, the center of attention in every situation. If he got quiet, he was about to go boom, in a big way.

Still, Logan tells himself, trying to look nonchalant as he slips out of his boss’ car, it’s not like the Commander can hurt him. So what if he gets busted? They give him grunt work for a while, he pays somebody to do it. They confine him to quarters, he’ll just have somebody pick up booze and bring it back to him. He’s the best pilot in his class- they’re not going to hose him over a fight.

Logan keeps telling himself that as he follows Dawson through the quiet, dark home into his study. His blood goes cold, surrounded by leather furniture and books, facing a silent, angry man. Fear has always made Logan bold- if you’re going to get hit, hit first. It applies to more than just fights- it’s served him well in interpersonal conflict, too. These days, he leaves as many bruises as he leaves with.

“Hey, you forgot something,” Logan says flippantly. “I’m not a stray, I don’t just come home with you.”

Commander Dawson continues walking towards his desk and doesn’t answer. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Are you deaf?” Logan demands.

Dawson reaches his desk and sits down, still not acknowledging Logan. “Seriously, dude, some sign of higher brain function would be nice. I’m worried they’ve got robots running the base now, and your programming’s fried.”

Still nothing. Logan throws himself into one of the guest chairs. “Fine. Let’s do the spiel. I’ll be you: ‘Ensign Echolls, fighting is beneath Navy men. You are an officer and I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly.’” Logan gets into it, imitating the stuffed shirt Navy men he’s dealt with over the past few months.

“Did I invite you to sit down?” Dawson asks, interrupting him.

Logan gapes. “What?”

“I don’t recall inviting you to have a seat,” Dawson tells him.

“Well, you also didn’t invite me into your car, or into your home. You weren’t speaking, so I’ve been inferring. I’m a bright boy!” Logan laughs.

“Apparently not, if you think speaking to your commanding officer like that, or taking liberties, is the way to make a career in the Navy,” the Commander scolds.

“Well, there’ve been suspicions,” Logan says sourly.

“Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past few hours?” Dawson asks.

“Sleeping? Rudimentary listening skills training? Practicing your ‘I ate a lemon’ face?” Logan asks irreverently.

“Going over all of our records on you. You haven’t been formally arrested, but the officer who brought you in told me you’ve been a regular visitor. He was surprised to discover you were one of mine now, and thought I’d like to know. My men have a reputation for more professional conduct.” The man’s voice could chill vodka. Logan needs another drink.

“That’s me, always shakin’ things up!” Logan tells him, forcefully cheerful. “You want a martini?” He spots the bar in the corner of the room and walks over. “I shake those too.”

“Freeze.” Dawson’s voice actually freezes Logan in his tracks. Which, naturally, pisses him off.

“What the hell is your problem?” he demands.

“Currently, you. You’ve got some of the most impressive scores I’ve ever seen. Echolls. And I’m about five minutes  _ past _ deciding to drum you out of this program, anyway,” Dawson says. He’s still sitting at his desk, calm as you please, as if none of this matters to him.

Logan’s surprised to find that it matters to  _ him. _ A lot. He turns back around. “What, a guy insults you and he’s not fit to fly a plane?” Logan demands.

“Your conduct makes me doubt whether I could trust you in the sky,” Dawson tells him frankly. “I don’t send out pilots I can’t control.”

“I’m a good pilot,” Logan argues.

“Who has been hauled into the guard station to sleep it off half a dozen times since you got to Florida,” Dawson counters. “That is not usually a part of OCS.”

“But never charged,” Logan offers, grasping desperately for his cool.

“Do you have a drinking problem, Echolls?” Dawson asks him.

“No, sir. No problem drinking. It goes down just fine,” Logan tells him.

“I’m already aware of your problem with authority,” the other man tells him drily.

“You’d have a problem with authority too, if your father murdered your girlfriend, got away with it, tried to kill your new girlfriend, and then got murdered by somebody I’m pretty sure was hired by my best friend’s parents. Does not exactly inspire confidence in ‘authority’,” Logan challenges. Sometimes, a full on offensive is all you’ve got left.

“That was in your background file. As was the time  _ you _ were charged with murder, although I understand the charges were dropped. Did you do it?” Dawson asks.

Logan stares at him. What the hell kind of question is that? “Of course not!” Logan yelps.

“You also had a brush with the mob a few years ago, apparently. Right before you transferred colleges and, it looked like, got your act together. At least until lately,” Dawson says.

“Some mob guy’s kid recorded my ex in bed without her consent. She was upset. I handled it. There was some fallout,” Logan shrugs.

“From where I’m sitting, that sounds more like you tried to play with the big boys and got your nose smacked,” Dawson says.

“I could take the guy himself, no problem. His dad’s hired muscle kidnapped me. Guess they figured they needed a room full of professional thugs to take down little old me. Luckily, the ex was a PI. I’d picked up a few tricks,” Logan tells him.

“As I understand it, you not only escaped but you also managed to take police to a hideout they raided for incrimination information, before your captors realized you were missing,” Dawson comments.

“If you read the file, why are you asking me?” Logan asks.

“The why was missing. I was curious what put you on their radar. Wondered if it was gambling or drugs. I didn’t expect it to be girls,” Dawson admits.

Logan shakes his head violently. “Not  _ girls. _ Just the one girl. Veronica… she was something else.”

“Worth taking on the whole mob for?” Dawson asks. “She what’s got you spiraling like this?”

“She left California last year. Moved northeast somewhere, with her loser boyfriend. I think she’s a paralegal now,” Logan tells him.

“So yes,” Dawson says.

“No,” Logan insists vehemently. “She’s  _ gone. _ It doesn’t matter anymore. She hasn’t spoken to me since I punched the mob guy. Didn’t tell me when she transferred, or when she moved. She doesn’t even know I’m in the Navy,” Logan says bitterly. He used to think Veronica was the only person in the world who gave a damn about him. Now, the closest he’s got is Dick.

“Then she won’t be disappointed to hear you’ve been discharged,” Dawson tells him.

“Discharged over a  _ bar fight? _ What the hell is your problem?” Logan asks.

“My  _ problem, _ Echolls, is that I have a brilliant pilot with a history of terrible decision making and a serious drinking problem. I can’t put you in an airplane, send you overseas, and honestly expect the mission objective to be achieved. And that means you’re no good to me. Now, I’ve got plenty of guys training to be pilots. That’s not a problem. The problem I’m having is that I see real potential in you, and I don’t like giving up on that,” Dawson tells him.

“Nobody’s forcing you to,” Logan grouses.

Dawson slams his hand down on the desk. Logan jumps. “You are. Every time you make a remark like that, you show me you aren’t taking this seriously. I can’t help you when you have no concept of discipline,” Dawson announces.

“Oh, I know plenty about  _ discipline,” _ Logan spits.

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is a spoiled little rich boy who’s coasted on his money and brains and some superficial charm. Who is finally face to face with someone who can’t be bought or bribed and has absolutely no idea how to behave. I’d expect better manners from my ten year old nephew,” Dawson tells him.

“Do you want me to kiss your ass? Is that seriously all this is?” Logan asks.

“I want you to give a damn about your future. I want you to shape up while you can still have some kind of a future,” Dawson tells him.

“You already decided that one though, didn’t you?” Logan points out sourly.

“Do you think I have a choice? Is there anything you can say that will convince me you’re even remotely interested in living up to the Navy’s expectations of you? Because I’d love an excuse to keep you, kid. I’m just not seeing one,” Dawson tells him.

Logan swallows a snarky reply. He wants to be a pilot, far more than he’d really realized until he was about to lose the chance. He’d joined because people were always saying he needed discipline, and a purpose, and he figured the Navy wouldn’t let him waste his life. He doesn’t  _ want _ to waste his life, to move back to Neptune and lounge around drinking and surfing with Dick all day. He wants to do something that matters.

So he tells Dawson that. “Because I could be sitting in a beach house in one of the wealthiest suburbs in California right now, drunk and high and buried under willing girls. You’re right- I’m rich, I don’t need to work. I don’t have student loans to pay back, here. I joined the Navy because I know that kind of life doesn’t mean anything, and that’s not what I want. I’m good at what I do. So I don’t play nice- not everything is about manners,” he says.

“No, it isn’t. Whether you call me ‘sir’ when I ask you a question doesn’t directly affect your ability to fly a plane. But whether you have enough respect for the Navy and the chain of command to prioritize addressing me properly does tell me whether you take this seriously,” Dawson explains.

“Noted, sir,” Logan tells him, fixing his posture. He stands straight, trying to show the older man that he’s got his attention. Logan’s learned his lesson, his CO can let this go.

“You know, I almost believe you want to get this right. You could’ve just hired a flight instructor, if you just wanted to fly planes. I think you really do want to be in the Navy,” Dawson muses, sounding surprised.

“I do, sir,” Logan tells him, posture rigid. Trying to keep the plea out of his voice.

“Being in the Navy takes discipline, kid, not just skill. And however much you want to do this, I don’t think you know how.” Dawson stands up, and Logan tracks his movements worriedly.

“Sir?” he asks, worried. He wants to jump to his own defense, but that would just be proving to Dawson that he has no self control. He remembers from OCS that when a superior officer is dressing you down you’re really not supposed to speak unless spoken to.

“Someone should’ve pulled you in OCS,” Dawson decides. “It’s a crime that you got here without even the most basic training in how to control yourself. I’m supposed to be teaching you how to fly a plane, and none of that matters without the rest.”

“So teach me, sir. Please,” Logan asks, holding his breath as he waits for an answer.

Dawson looks surprised. “I could. If you’re really interested in learning. It won’t be easy. There’ll be rules- ones you’ll hate, but have to follow because they’re important. Ones you’ll know aren’t important, but you’ll have to follow them because you need to learn to listen, and follow orders.”

“Anything, sir,” Logan says, his throat dry. “I don’t want to go.”

Dawson comes around the desk to examine him. Logan forcibly holds himself still. It takes more effort than it seems like it should. He’s nervous. “We do this, we’re starting right now, with you answering for disgracing your unit with your behavior tonight,” Dawson warns.

“Yes, sir,” Logan agrees desperately.

His blood runs cold when Dawson pulls off his belt. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He can do this. He has to do this, if he wants to stay. He desperately wants to stay. Dawson sits on the edge of his desk. “Come here,” he says.

Logan walks towards him, head spinning with panic. He knows how to do this. He’s taken a whipping from an actual murderer, dozens of times. Dawson’s nothing to be scared of. His CO frowns at him when he stops in front of the other man. Internally, Logan panics. What did he do wrong?

Dawson reaches toward him and Logan flinches, but the other man only tilts his chin up to see his eyes. “You’ve been fighting guys twice your size. You took on the mob, and before that, some kind of biker gang. You’re not afraid of pain,” Dawson decides.

Logan swallows thickly. “No, sir,” he agrees.

Dawson tosses the belt aside. “This isn’t going to work,” he decides.

Logan panics, scrambling for the belt and trying to hand it back to him. “No, please, I’ll take the beating, don’t kick me out, please!” he begs. Dawson stares at him. “Sir,” he adds dumbly.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The other man has made it clear how important titles are to him. Logan should never have forgotten.

Dawson takes the belt, but he puts it back on. Logan stands there, lost. “I didn’t mean I was giving up, we just need a better plan,” his CO informs him. “You’re not going to learn a damn thing, if you’re looking at me like that.”

Logan just stares at him, wide eyed. “I know trauma when I see it,” Dawson tells him. “My sister takes in foster kids. I help out, sometimes. Somebody taught you all the wrong lessons.”

“I can learn!” Logan tells him insistently.

“I’m sure you can,” Dawson soothes him. “But nobody learns anything when they’re scared to death. The point here isn’t to make you afraid of me, it’s to make you stop and think.”

“I’m not afraid of being beaten,” Logan insists. He’s digging his heels in- the last thing he wants is for his CO to think he’s some kind of wimp.

“You know, I actually believe that. But there’s someone who scares you. A lot. Someone you thought of when I took off my belt. So I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to be honest with me. And we’re going to come up with a better plan,” Dawson decides.

“Yes, sir,” Logan agrees.

“Is it just belts, or corporal punishment in general?” Dawson asked.

“He prefered belts and fists, sir,” Logan confesses. His heart is beating too fast, just admitting that much. It feels like Aaron is going to come back to life to punish him for telling.

“You going to be okay if I tan your ass with a ruler?” Dawson asks.

“Yes, sir,” Logan tells him.

“Any other triggers I need to watch for? Positions, words?” his CO asks.

“If you’re going to hit me in the face, warn me so I don’t hit you back,” Logan requests.

“Kid, I promise I am  _ never _ going to hit you in the face. That’s violence, not punishment.” Dawson stands up, walking back around his desk. He pulls a heavy ruler out of a drawer. “I think this will work just fine,” he decides, coming back around and half sitting on the corner of the desk once more.

“Over my knee,” he instructs. Logan hesitates. That’s a new one- he’s never been turned over someone’s knee before. He wants to bristle- he’s not a little kid! But he all but begged the man to beat him instead of firing him- best not to give him a chance to change his mind now.

He goes to get into position. Dawson stops him. Logan bristles, swallowing the desire to tell the man to just make up his mind, already. “Pants down,” Dawson says.

Of course. Logan knows better.He pushes down his pants, hesitating at his underwear until Dawson nods and then pushing those down too. Then he leans over, getting into position and bracing himself on his elbows. He can take this, he reminds himself.

Logan has never been body conscious, so his only concern about removing his clothing is the seriousness it implies about this punishment. Dawson isn’t giving him a few cracks to scare him straight, the other man apparently really intends to beat his ass.

Logan would rather take the beating than be kicked out the service. He’s positive he can handle however much pain Dawson feels like inflicting. It’s the humiliation of the other man’s treatment that’s harder to stomach. He supposes that’s the real lesson, intentional or not: nobody on this base cares who Logan Echolls is, and he’s nobody here but another low man on the totem pole. Nobody gives a damn about him or his ego.

Commander Dawson tells him, “I am spanking you for becoming so drunk in public that you allowed yourself to get involved in a fistfight, and wind up sleeping in a cell. I expect you to conduct yourself with the maturity and control that befits your career, in the future.”

“Yes, sir,” Logan says automatically.

The ruler cracks down. The first spank is hard, and he keeps himself still by sheer force of will. Dawson follows it with another before he’s caught his breath, and Logan clenches his fists together and focuses all of his energy on not howling.

It’s a hell of a licking- Dawson makes the ruler hurt every bit as much as the belt would have. And yet somehow, Logan doesn’t feel even a little bit unsafe. His CO is busting his ass because he screwed up. Logan Echolls screwing up is nothing new. But someone giving a damn that he’s spiraling, helping him instead of ignoring it turning away and giving up? That’s brand new. Not even Veronica ever did that. She quit him over and over, even if she couldn’t stay away.

Dawson is giving him a chance, here. To do better. To prove he can  _ be _ better. So he keeps himself still and quiet as the man absolutely blisters his ass with the ruler. He absorbs the painful spanks and tries to focus on why he’s letting someone spank his ass, as a grown man. He wants to be in the Navy, and sometimes that’s going to have to mean making the brass happy. Even if it sucks. Even if it’s stupid or embarrassing. He may be smart enough to coast and pass the classes, but the training modules aren’t the only thing he’s got to worry about. He’s got to prove to Dawson that he deserves to be a pilot.

Dawson keeps spanking for what feels like hours, even though Logan knows logically it’s only been a few minutes. He’s twitching minutely with each smack, not letting himself react but worried he’s not going to be able to swallow his yelps much longer, when it finally stops. Logan sags in relief.

He moves to stand, but Dawson’s hand in the middle of his back keeps him down. “That was for the bar fight,” Dawson tells him. “This is for the absolutely immature, rude way you spoke to me tonight.”

Dawson swats him again, but it’s not the ruler this time. The Commander is spanking Logan with his hand, like he’s a little kid. He turns around, as much as he can without breaking position, to confirm his suspicions.

“Throwing fits and being rude is kid’s stuff, Echolls. You act like a little kid, I’ll bust your butt like one,” Dawson tells him, and Logan winces. He feels like an absolute child. Getting his butt spanked by a grown up because he can’t behave. He’s never been able to behave, who is he kidding? He’s a fuckup.

Logan cries silently, fast, lonely tears he can’t stop. He swipes them away desperately. He  _ cannot _ risk Dawson seeing this. His boss can never know that he cried like a baby over getting his butt smacked. He’ll never convince the other man he’s capable of being a pilot if he knows how pathetic and weak Logan is.

Finally, the spanking stops. Logan takes a big gulp of air and swallows it, trying to stop the tears. He swipes his wrist across his face, removing the evidence. And he doesn’t move, without instruction.

“You can stand up and replace your clothing,” Dawson tells him.

Logan does, looking determinedly at the floor to avoid seeing his CO’s face. He’s not sure he could handle ridicule right now.

“Alright, Echolls, there are a few things you need to know. I do not generally spank my men. 99% of them don’t need it. They want to be a pilot or they don’t, and that’s all there is to it. But every few years, the brass gives me someone special. Someone brilliant, but self destructive. They gave you to me because they thought you were worth saving, kid, and they figured I’d find a way to do it. I’ve helped men save their careers before. No two have ever been quite the same. We figure out what works, and we come to an agreement. You won’t be any different,” Dawson assures him.

“Some of my ‘pet projects’ are among the Navy’s best pilots. Some of them decided the Navy wasn’t for them. You can make either choice, at any point. You can be your best, or you can decide you don’t want this. What you won’t be doing anymore is coasting along. Your best or nothing, kid, from here on out. And when your best isn’t good enough, you’ll answer to me. Not just as your CO, kid, as someone who sees potential in you and doesn’t want you to waste it.” Logan stands up a little straighter at that.

“We’re going to talk more tomorrow. You’re going to get some sleep, for now. Tomorrow, sober and rested and sore, you get to decide if this is something you want to do. If it isn’t, we’ll never speak of tonight again. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve paid for your mistakes today. That doesn’t change. But if you wake up in the morning and you decide you want to do this without my help, I’ll let you sink or swim on your own. If you get up tomorrow and you agree that you need help, and you’re willing to take it in this form, then we’re going to talk about rules and goals for you, and we’re going to come up with a plan,” Dawson finishes.

“Yes, sir,” Logan says. It seems like the thing to say- he wants to say ‘thank you’. He wants to assure his CO that he wants this, however much it hurts. But he hasn’t been given permission to speak freely, so he sticks with the response he knows is respectful and appropriate.

“Good boy,” Dawson tells him, and Logan looks up, surprised. “Come on, I’ll show you to the guest room,” Dawson offers. Logan trails the other man without complaint.

Dawson gets him set up in the guest bedroom with loaner sweats and a fresh toothbrush, and Logan gets ready for bed methodically. This night has been  _ weird, _ and he’s not quite ready to process everything that’s happened yet. Still, he feels like he’s got a shot at getting things back on the right track, with Dawson’s help. Dawson actually seems to  _ want _ to help. With that thought in mind, Logan goes to sleep.


End file.
